Mudblood
by FangedPuffskein
Summary: Tom Riddle was the smartest wizard of his generation, so what turned him on the path of death and destruction? Hidden meanings, secrets, and devious plots abound. My first attempt at Harry Potter Fanfiction and it's going to be a long one.
1. Merope

Merope Viperius Gaunt was sweet sixteen and had never been kissed, and according to her brother, she never would be. Her mother had died when she was very little, and she had grown up always wearing Morfin's hand-me-downs, but secretly admiring the swishing gowns and skirts of the ladies of the town – even the baker's wife wore work skirts in a beautiful deep brown.

Recently, poor Merope had gone through "Preparing for the only important thing a witch can do," as her father had told her, practically spitting his hissing syllables. She often wondered if he could even speak the common tongue any more, or perhaps if he ever could. Merope finally becoming old enough to marry was a cause for celebration for her brother and father, and a cause of many tears for the girl, as getting married meant she would have to move away from the village, and the boy she longed to be friends with again, Tom.

Even though Marvolo Gaunt had glared and bared his teeth at the men from the local church and slammed the door on the suited man from the government, the children were still taken to Little Hangleton Primary School as the muggle law required, his wife insisted that they be educated, even if it was by muggles.

Morfin was disgusted by the filth surrounding him and refused to speak to any of them. He was rightfully picked on for his behaviour, and the teacher used the cane on his hands more than once for trying to bite another child, but he had left school two whole years before Merope started. His hatred of the villagers of Little Hangleton grew and festered with every sighting of the muggles.

Merope however, was quiet and shy, and the others felt sorry for her because of her poor quality clothes and messy hair, and the brute of a brother who made horrible hissing noises at her when he walked her to school.

Her teacher in the third year of classes, deciding to have a modern approach, mixed the sexes from their divided seating, and sat her beside a boy. His name was Tom Riddle. Tom was always very clean and very well dressed. He told her, in whispered conversations, that his mother and father were not very nice, and that when he was 16 he would run away and join the army. Merope thought that this was a wonderful idea, and, in the fashion that childhood friends do, they made a pact. Tom spat in his palm, and Merope spat in hers and they each swore to be friends forever and to leave Little Hangleton when they grew up.

Unfortunately for the girl, her magic bound her to her promise, and the spit was just enough body fluid to bind her to Tom, unknowingly.

Marvolo Gaunt had attempted to find a suitable match for his daughter for almost eighteen whole months from her fifteenth birthday. She was a plain looking young woman, and although she had slim hips, he assured potential partners families that her mothers had widened after the birth of Morfin, and if she hadn't caught dragon pox, they would surely have had more than two children.

At first, things had gone well.

He accepted the arrangement with the Todd patriarch for his youngest son Sidney, and the bonding ceremony was planned. Then something went very wrong when the handfasting ribbons were conjured by the blushing bride and groom, as Merope screamed as though she was being flayed, and continued screaming until they got her away from the man.

Her father had to use a memory charm to obliviate the memory from her head when she kept waking in the night, screaming.

He attempted to bond her thrice more in the months that followed, then came to the conclusion that she must be little better than a squib and magic would not allow her to sully the other pureblood lines. He began to beat her, and the obliviations and abuse soon damaged the girl's appearance: her eyes drifted and became unfocused, and she had small scars all over her legs from the snake bites he commanded against her.

Upon her seventeenth birthday, Merope woke to see that her brother, while despicable, had not, in fact, killed her in her sleep as he had threatened for years. Nor had her father banished her from the family home.

She saw to the breakfast, as usual, and swept the bare dirt floor of the leaf litter and shed scales. It was after this that her father announced that, if she had not found a husband by the day of her 18th birthday, she was to be bonded to her brother, Morfin, and would produce heirs to the Slytherin bloodline. Morfin looked embarrassed, but quietly let her know that her father permitted him to gift her their mother's clothes, and she spent the remainder of the day adjusting them carefully to fit her as correctly possible.

Days passed and, almost a month after her birthday, Merope decided to take a walk through the quiet fields surrounding the town. Her father merely grunted when she asked for permission, and Morfin told her to bring a basket and collect anything she thought might look like potions ingredients. Dressed in a long brown skirt, a soft cream shirt and a pocket apron that had faded to a muddy grey, she set off with her basket, through the bristly shrubs and trees that her father had charmed to keep the muggles away.

She wandered aimlessly, occasionally using her wand to lift a plant, roots and all, into her basket, and finally reached a large house, with a tall hedge and a familiar face called out a cheerful greeting. "Merope! My goodness, has it been so long? Come along dear, you must come inside for a cool drink." Mrs Riddle was a stately woman, and she had worried greatly when the girl her son was so fond of just disappeared when she turned 10. Judging from the gossip which the local ladies had frequently provided, the child's father had taken his son and daughter out of the public as quickly as permitted, and judging from the girls muddy and ragged fingers, put them to work. Mary settled herself at the kitchen table, while Mrs Edwards, the cook, fetched lemonade for the girl.

The years did not look to have been kind on the child, the lady of the manor surmised, looking at the purpling bruise at her temple and the way her eyes drifted apart. When Tom walked in to collect his after tennis snack, he stopped dead in his tracks. "Mother, what on earth is the Tramp's daughter doing here?"

Merope felt a sharp pain in her chest when she saw Tom again, and something akin to a painful pulling sensation. "I am deeply sorry, Lady Riddle," she said softly, with a low bow, "but I must return home. Father shall be expecting his supper soon. Thank you for the drink." With that, she fled and missed the guilty look from her once childhood friend.

Morfin had left out the book for her to look through when she returned so that she could sort through the plants and not annoy their father with such triviality. The peppermint would be able to be sold, as would the rose petals and thorns. She had a strange prickling feeling, something like when her magic knocked over the broom when she was frustrated, and the pages of the book fluttered like butterflies wings. Merope flicked through and saw a potion she had never noticed before and was unsure of what it was until she saw the word Matrimonium.

Her magic seemed to shiver, and the odd pulling sensation happened again, but this time, she thought of Tom. He had grown up to be a very handsome man, just like his father: tall, and broad-shouldered, dark haired and well featured. If only Tom would marry her, like he had joked about as a child, then perhaps she would escape from her father, and see the world outside.

The confundus charm, which she had been taught to keep her safe from the muggles, was used carefully on her father and brother before they awoke, and she hoped that she could get away from her family, even for one more day. Unluckily for Merope's plans of cloud gazing and river dipping, the moment she exited the barrier from her home, a man grabbed her by the upper arms. "Merope! Thank the Lord almighty that you are safe! There was a fire down the street and no one had heard from your family, and after I was so cruel… I apologise." Tom Riddle, well dressed and elegant, stood before her, looking down into her startled face. "Merope, I was hoping I could apologise properly. I have requested that Mrs Edwards put on a luncheon, mother and father will chaperone of course, but I have missed you all these years. Say you will come?" Merope merely nodded and allowed herself to be swept away into the most delightful afternoon of her life.

Mrs Riddle sent her maid to help her prepare and clean herself for the meal, and after it was finished Tom walked her around the gardens, gifting her with a small cutting of his grandmother's roses. Merope sat on her straw bed in a daze, thinking about Tom, and looking at the rose he had given her. Surely it was a sign that he loved her? After all, in the ladies books which once belonged to her mother, the handsome prince gave the princess a bunch of flowers, and there was always a rose. She looked again at the book. Her brewing wasn't as good as her fathers, but she would try her best. If it worked, it would be another sign that it was meant to be.

It took her a week to find an excuse to leave the house again, but when her brother didn't return from going to deliver the potions ingredients, her father stormed out to go and find him, and she took her chance. Quickly donning her mother's old tattered and faded black cloak, Merope walked to the Riddle house and crept inside. She remembered seeing Mrs Edwards using the servant's passages in the rear of the kitchen, and crept through, heart hammering in her chest. The sun had set, and the only light on in the manor was now the little lantern outside the groundskeeper's pretty little wooden hut.

Merope smiled at the sight through a tall window, remembering a story her mother had told her about a witch transfiguring a house from gingerbread and giving sugared fruits to the good little witches and wizards that found her home in the woods. She heard a snuffling snoring noise, and looked around a door, only to see Mr Riddle, fast asleep, his large moustache fluttering with every exhale. Trying hard not to giggle, Merope crept down the hall, checking each room until she found Tom.

He looked even more handsome sleeping, his blankets pushed down in slumber, revealing smooth skin and a broad chest nothing like the shape of the men in her home. She smiled at him, sighing as he rolled over away from her, and quickly poured the potion into the glass of water at his little table. "Goodnight Tom," she whispered, closing the door behind her quietly, and quickly running from the house to her own.

An hour later and Merope Gaunt was under her back itchy woollen blankets, dreaming about a muggle wedding, and babies with beautiful faces, just like Tom.

The next morning, she had woken and prepared the house, as usual, then quickly and quietly passed the shrubbery and sighed in relief when she saw Tom approaching. "Merope, you look more radiant than the sun," he said, beaming at her, and raising her hand to his lips.

Almost a year passed in this fashion, filled with stolen moments and days of separation when one or both of them could not escape from their familial constraints, then Tom arrived one crisp winter morning a week before her birthday, looking more rumpled than she had ever seen him. "My love, we must leave." Merope was speechless, blinking in the bright morning light him. "Come, Merope. Let us make use of my fathers driver. The time has come for us to leave Little Hangleton." Merope quickly agreed, and Tom headed back to his home to gather his belongings and arrange the auto-mobile to transport them.

Merope quivered with nervousness as she crept up behind her brother and her father, and whispered "confundo," for what she hoped was the last time. She trembled again as Tom helped her into the auto-mobile, and clasped his hand in a death grip as the muggle machine travelled faster than she had ever seen a broomstick fly.

Three weeks had passed, and Tom announced that they should be married, as they were living together unchaperoned, though not yet as man and wife. Merope happily wore the white dress and lace-trimmed hat he had bought for her and smiled contentedly at him as he spoke to the priest who would quietly marry them. She blushed when taken aside by the Sisters of the muggle church and was asked very plainly about going to bed with Tom, and her face went redder than it had ever done before when Sister Agatha told her frankly what was going to happen when Tom took her home. However, her decision never wavered, and Merope could even feel her magic stir around herself and Tom as the priest asked them questions, and the candles in the church flickered and flared as they spoke their vows to each other.

Living in London was harder than Merope and Tom had imagined. Tom had written to his parents about their marriage, and his father had demanded that the return to Little Hangleton. Tom thought that this would be disastrous and that his father would tear them apart. But Merope knew nothing could part them now, as she had stopped giving Tom the potion on the day they before got married, knowing that Tom really loved her and that she wouldn't need it any more.

Slowly the months turned and on the 15th of April Merope felt a different kind of pulling on her magic. She went to see the herbwife who lived across the town an afternoon while Tom had gone for a walk and was shocked to find out that she might be carrying a baby. Merope felt incredibly embarrassed when she remembered arguing with the wrinkled woman that babies were delivered by owl, and sighed in relief that the woman had been a witch and merely laughed.

She did think that perhaps Tom wouldn't be as excited about the baby, and therefore didn't tell him. He was exchanging frequent letters with his family, and sometimes she saw him frowning while looking out of the window. Their happy news could wait until he was less worried, and could be as happy as Merope herself.

At the end of September, when her stomach was swollen and her emotions were high, Tom got into an argument with a man on the street and returned home with a bruise on his face. "I have had enough of this festering sore of a town, we shall return to Little Hangleton in the morning," he announced, storming into the lounge. His eyes went wide suddenly, and then his brow furrowed, "Merope? How did we come to be here?" Merope was confused, and shook her head, "I don't understand, Tom. What do you mean?"

Tom, however, was looking all around him like he had never seen the house before. He looked at the walls and the furniture, then ran to their bedroom, then the dressing room. Merope found him staring in the mirror. "What am I wearing?" he said, taken aback at his modern cut suit. Merope thought he looked nice and shrunk away when he rounded on her, holding out his left hand, "What in the name of God is this?!" he shouted gesturing to his wedding ring. His eyes were almost feverish as he spotted hers, the telltale swell of her pregnancy, and he immediately shook his head, walking swiftly from the room. Unfortunately spotting her wand where she had left it beside her knitting. Tom lifted it and threw it at her, "Witch! You told me once you were a witch and I thought it the joking of youth! But its true, isn't it? You've enchanted me to do this, to leave my home and wed you? To become some sort of slave to your whims? Well, no more! Get out!"

Merope Riddle, sitting on the footpath outside what was once her marital home, cried as she pressed her hand to her rounded stomach, and staggered to her feet. A passing policeman shook his head, and a woman crossed the street with her children, guiding them away from her.

She waited, weeping, for two days for Tom to let her back in before the man who had driven her to this place opened the door and told her "Young Master Riddle has been safely delivered back to his parents. Lady Riddle has impressed upon me the necessity of you remaining here, away from her son, and has sent this. Please leave this street, or I will be forced to contact the constabulary. Goodbye, Madam." With that, he shut the door, leaving Merope with four one-pound notes clutched in her hand.

Not knowing what else to do, Merope headed back to try and find the herbwife, sobbing as she stumbled in the rain. A coughing and bedraggled Merope finally reached Diagon Alley and rented a room towards the end of the street from a lady with dark skin and eyes the colour of the firewhiskey her father used to drink. Merope wondered how everything had gone wrong, and why the horrible twisting feeling in her stomach was getting worse. She spent as little on food as possible, remembering how often her father made it clear that children were expensive and realised that she certainly could not make the shillings she had left stretch to cover a midwife helping her, food, and lodgings, and so she found her way to a shop that her landlady pointed out.

The only things that Merope had of value were her gold wedding ring and a necklace that her father told her belonged to his grandfather. Mr Burke told her that it was likely muggle, like the ring, and would need to be melted down, but that he would take pity on her and give her two whole galleons for both. This paid for her rent, right up until the middle of December, just before Yule, when her landlady died, and the wards of the house pushed her out into the street with none of her belongings, and the Aurors were called to remove her from Diagon Alley for causing a disturbance. She was banned from the alley for four weeks, but it was barely more than two when the horrible emptiness started.

She was surviving, begging for scraps of food and muggle money here and there, but one moment the painful twisting that she had become accustomed to stopped, and it felt as though all the joy had been sucked from her world. When the muggle street lamps shone with electric light, Merope felt a different pain than the haunting void behind her breast. and then blood ran from between her legs. A homeless boy flinched from the sight of her staggering and ran to the orphanage to see if one of the sisters would help her.

Sister Margaret was tutting at the fallen woman, shaking her head. "The pain is Gods punishment," she said, "for being wicked and sinful. You should be happy! In the book of our Lord, it tells us 'Unto the woman he said, I will greatly multiply thy sorrow and thy conception; in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children; and thy desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee.' You understand, don't you? That this pain is to cleanse your wicked soul." Merope cried and wept and howled through the pain, and finally, she birthed a son, under the watchful eye of the Sisters.

"What is his name? If you are to give him to the orphanage, I must have a name." Merope tried to raise her head from staring at her baby to look at the woman, but felt a tearing pain inside and a gush between her legs, and kept her eyes on him. "My boy. Tom Riddle, Junior. Keep him safe." The sister was alarmed at the volume of blood and tried to shake the woman, ignoring the piercing cries of the newborn at being passed to a younger nun who wrapped him in a small blanket they kept for swaddling.

"Merope? Merope, come on, come on now girl," Sister Margaret was calling, but Merope lifted her left hand, the faded line from where her wedding band had once been stark white as she paled, and reached out for her son, giving him one last smile as she breathed her last.


	2. Wool's Orphanage

Tom couldn't ever remember anything but feeling cold. Not that he felt there was anything at all wrong with the crisp coldness that bit his cheeks and fingertips, but he did sometimes wonder what being warm would feel like. Even when Sister Agatha lit the fire in the parlour of the orphanage, the heat seemed to pool and puddle just in front of the grate, and refuse to spread to the rest of the building, and Tom was never the tallest, nor strongest, boy, so was never able to push his way to the front of the others and claim a spot for his own. At the age of three he stopped trying.

William was Toms friend, and Wools Orphanage was not so bad with a friend beside you, if you didn't mind hard work and firm discipline. William was even more surprised than Tom when an old lady arrived one morning and took him away. The Sister on duty shook her head sadly. She told Tom that the lady was Williams Grandmother, his real family. Tom couldn't begrudge his friend a family nor a real home, but it didn't stop him from watching the gates for William coming back home, like some of the older boys returned.

Jamesey was a tall boy, pale in the face and hair shorn so short that it looked almost invisible, and he took exception at Tom moping around. "Grimsby! Fetch Tom a book or something, while you're up on your feet," he called to his other room-mate one day. Tom just shrugged. He wasn't as close to Grimsby or Jamesey, and those boys were as close to each other as brothers anyway.

The boys tried to pull Tom out of his shell, showing him a mouse they had caught, before one of the bigger boys took it off them and released it again. Tom found a book about the food chain and shed it to Grimsby, who declared, "That mouse would make a fine dinner for a cat or a snake!" The boys turned a game of tag into cat and mice, and Tom wore a smile for a whole day, feeling a little less alone.

The next day, the Sisters called Tom in to speak with the Priest. Father Jones was a fat man with a red nose and a wobbly neck and Tom didn't like how his eyes fixed on toms collar and belt. Father Jones spoke with a lisp, and drooled over his bottom lip, and it made Tom wrinkle his nose. "Thomas, I have been asked to tell you something upsetting. William has gone to be with God."

Something pounded in the boys ears as he felt a pain in his chest. "You see, the woman who took him was his Grandmother, but his father was married to someone else, not his mother. Do you understand?" Tom nodded. "Hmm, well, there was an accident when Williams stepmother was helping him bathe. As he was baptised here, he will be buried here too." Tom tried to swallow the painful lump in his throat, choking out "Can I go to his funeral?" Father Jones shook his head, "I'm afraid his family don't think there would be any point in having one since they knew him for only a few short weeks. I'm sorry, my boy."

Grimsby looked pale and scared when Tom returned sobbing, and Jamesey shook his head in denial when Tom told him what had happened. "I told you" whispered Grimsby, that evening as the boys climbed under their sheets, curling up against the cold. "What?" whispered Jamesey, "You said Will'd die?" Grimsby shook his head, "Nah, but I told you: No good comes from families. Not for kids like us. We're here because we're better off without them." Jamesey shook his head, "That's not true."

Tom wasn't sure who was right, but he felt something in his chest squeeze when he thought of his friend, the one he had been fed beside, bathed beside, dressed beside, taught beside for his whole life, lying in the cold dark earth. Tom shivered and didn't get any sleep for three whole nights, until Sister Margaret gave him something dark brown to drink, and then he slept for a whole day. He was seven.

Tom never liked hurting animals, not like some bigger boys. But he did like trapping them and keeping them in the bedroom, and it didn't make any difference as he was alone for the moment – Jamesey and Grimsby now going by James and Grim, had been moved into the bigger boys room as they had each turned ten, leaving Tom on his own until any other boys moved up from the nursery or came from one of the other orphanages.

Currently, he had three big drain spiders, two ants, and a beetle with a black-green shiny shell in his room. He was reading, as usual, and found out that the ants were part of something called a colony, and scooped up his mini menagerie after breakfast, and set them down back outside. "Go on," he whispered, poking the beetle gently, "go off back where you belong." Tom watched the little thing seem to plod along and smiled as the ants scurried away.

Tom enjoyed school, and was a very quick learner, tidy writer and polite. Not everyone was happy about that. "Teachers Pet! Teachers Pet! Lick his shoes and get them wet!" A group of larger and older boys was around him in a circle pushing him between themselves and laughing at his frightened face. Tom fell, his breath knocked out of his chest by the pain from his arm.

The other boys scattered and two of the girls from Wools walked him home, fretting about the mess of his school uniform and his arm, which had a strange lump under the skin in the forearm and was so darkly bruised, it looked almost black.

Tom went straight to bed, hoping it would stop being sore by morning, like the rest of his scrapes and bruises. He was nine.

A few months later, an incredible thing happened. A serpent spoke to Tom while he sat in the branches of the tree. Raised as a good, god fearing boy, Tom ran to ask the Father if serpents could speak.

Walking to his room in pain, Tom realised that it must be the devils work. Father Jones had used the paddle on his backside, and he couldn't sit, so he quietly paced. He looked under his bed for the bird he had brought in from the garden. He frowned at its floppy wings and head, confused at why it didn't just get better like he did. Annoyed, he opened his window and threw it out into the deserted back yard. He carefully closed his window and resumed his pacing.

If God created all creatures, how could a speaking serpent belong to the other? And what on earth had the creature meant by 'Noble Speaker"? Of course Tom could speak! He wasn't a baby! Perhaps the snake thought he was younger? Perhaps it was hard to guess the age of something of a different species? Tom certainly had no idea how old the snake was, nor that bird. He did want to try to see the snake again. Even if it meant another paddling.

Tom was a quiet boy, but polite, and not overly popular with the older boys who taunted and bullied, and the younger ones were too afraid of the older ones to break the trend. Two of the girls were the same age as him and in the same class, so he wasn't always alone, but he was lonely. So he looked for a friend, and found it in the serpent.

Sometimes he wondered if this is what Eve felt during the first corruption, but the snake whispered all kinds of secrets about all kinds of things, and Tom realised that perhaps the Devil wasn't evil for knowing something different. And that maybe evil wasn't a black mark against the white page of goodness. He was ten.

Tom was grateful for the donations, and the holiday, but not for the omnibus journey. Two hours in a confined space with nothing to do, no way of whispering to the snake under his shirt, stifling heat and the smell of too many bodies, in a box on wheels moving quickly. He felt excited, but nauseous.

The Church hall was large and draughty, but the freedom of exploring Tankerton beach and the caves and rock-pools surrounding it more than made up for it, and the omnibus ride besides. On the fourth day of their week-long holiday, Tom left the serpent up on the rocky ground near his clothes and went for a swim in the water which had gathered in the cave.

Georgina and Rebecca walked in, saw Tom splashing about and swimming, and were happy to see the firm line of his mouth relaxed into a small smile. Becca grinned at her twin sister, "Georgie? How about we hide and jump out?" Her sister put her hand over her mouth and giggled, "I've a better idea! Let's hide his clothes!". The girls crept up and began to gather his clothes, and then screamed in tandem, stamping then running away.

Tom bolted out of the water, seeing the girls from his class running. He frowned, then looked down at his pile of clothes. And the corpse of his friend. Something snapped in Tom, and he collapsed to his knees and wept until the sky turned dark.

He gently buried the snake in the silty soil island towards the centre of the water, and swore that no one would ever make him feel like this again.

The months passed, and summer turned to autumn and autumn fell to winter, and, a little more than a week after Christmas mass, Tom had a visitor.

The man was looking at Tom in a way he didn't like, "Can I help you, sir?"

"My name is Albus Dumbledore," said the stranger.


	3. Magic

"The day started hot and dry and the windowpane in his room was flooding the little space with bright morning light. Tom sighed, deciding to stay inside and away from the older boys and avoid getting another ribbing over the sunburn like he had two weeks previously.

Missus Charlton, a wealthy widow who volunteered with the girls twice a month, had declared that Tom was "a right little gent" and had been impressed with his manners, suggesting that she be is sponsor if he were to get the correct results in his Year 7 examinations.

Tom was painfully aware of the choice he was making when he apologised and turned down her offer of a private education, and hoped that the school that man had told him about was worth

Albus Dumbledore cast a cooling charm upon himself quietly before leaving Hogwarts, apparating to a spot not far from the orphanage. Concern about the child he was to speak to again had him more uncomfortable than the disappointed look Headmaster Dippet had given him when he mentioned his worry about the boy and how he had stolen from other children in his very home.

Smiling at the matron, who recognised him at once, he headed up to see if anything had become of the wards he had set and was surprised that they led him to a quiet looking boy, sitting on his bed and looking out of the window.

"Tom?"

The child turned at the call of his name, frowning slightly, then blinking it away and standing, "Good morning, Professor."

Something lurking behind the guise of innocent eyes and a charming exterior had Albus run a fingertip over his wand discretely.

"We are off on an outing, sir?" he was asked, shaking him from worrying thoughts.

"Yes, my boy. We will indeed be off. Let us just say goodbye to your carer and we shall away."

Tom looked at him, following silently as they headed for the kitchen, where Sister Agatha was kneading the dough.

"Ah, hello again young man! I see you are stealing away my helper for the day hmm?" the old woman asked, smiling fondly at Tom.

Stifling a blush, Tom nodded, "We're going to get my things for school."

The sister covered the dough with a tea towel and rinsed her hands under the tap, drying them on her stark white apron with an approving look.

"He'll be a good boy for you, Mr Dumbledore," she declared, nodding as she spoke. "He's always good for me, aren't you Tom?"

The boy in question smiled softly, "Yes Sister. I'll be good."

Giving him a quick, soft touch to the back, just between his shoulders, she followed the pair out into the bright morning light, smiling as they walked out through the gates to London's busy streets.

"Do you get on well with the other carers?" the man asked. Tom could tell he was fishing for something, anything he could pin on him. It was just like when Grimsby killed that sloe worm and blamed him.

"Yes sir, mostly. Father says when I don't that I will grow from my mistakes."

Attempting not to feel too smug about the shocked and then pensive look on the teacher's face was quite difficult, but the smile was wiped away and replaced with a lingering feeling of disgust, and it must have shown on his face.

"Yes, it doesn't look the cleanest, does it Tom?" Professor Dumbledore asked, spotting Tom turning his nose up at their destination.

The Leaky Cauldron was, from what Tom could see, wide-eyed, as they walked through it, a waypoint or meeting place, as well as disgustingly dingy and in need of a good scrubbing.

The teacher showed him a pattern to tap with his wand if returning, "If you cannot bring your wand, if you lock it away or lose it, then ask for Tom."

The boy blinked, and Dumbledore smiled condescendingly down at him, "The barkeep. Such a popular name! I know of three boys who left the school last year alone..."

He seemed to realise that Tom was not paying him a jot of attention and trailed off into silence.

Tom meanwhile, was trying not to gape like some cretin. But everywhere he looked, it felt like a little part of him that he didn't know was empty, was filled up.

Shiny kites and creatures skittered over the rooftops, and the roofs themselves were crooked, or pointy or even swirly! The windows uneven and one looked like it was looking underwater! Every single time he blinked, he opened his eyes again to discover something new and fascinating and he just wanted to sit down on one of the benches around one of the trees and gawk.

Unfortunately, Albus Dumbledore was not in the mood to encourage this particular child on this particular day and walked briskly towards a large building, Tom following beside him after a moment, rather than trail behind him in his wake.

Gringotts is the bank of the wizarding world," Albus told the boy, leading him to a teller.

The creature, for it could not surely be human, was unlike anything he had seen before. Though, after seeing the ones at the front door armed and vicious looking, he was unlikely to be so rude as to ask what it was within earshot of any of them.

The teller gave him a key and a quill. After a little bit of muddling, as he had never used one before, Tom worked out that he was to use it as a pen.

"Is there ink in this?" he asked politely, making eye contact with the creature, which shocked him by smiling, showing an alarming amount of sharp teeth.

"Sign here please," Dumbledore said, pointing at a line at the bottom of a page of something quite unlike paper.

As he carefully wrote out his full name, he bit down on his tongue to suppress the gasp at the stinging pain on the back of his hand and tried not to glare as the teller leaned back again, sighed, and flipped a gold coin at the smirking second creature beside him.

One quick walk took them to the cart, which moved quickly enough that Tom couldn't keep track of the number of doors they passed.

Finally, he was shown the vault by the Professor, who explained the bizarre currency and recommended getting a blood bound pouch to prevent loss or theft.

The small pile of gold, silver and bronze coins was to pay for seven years worth of books and supplies for school.

Tom nodded as Dumbledore explained the various prices while they ascended to the surface, strangely by continuing downwards, and back outside into the now fading sunlight.

After a quick trip to Madam Malkin's, Slug and Jiggers and Flourish and Blotts, Tom was whisked off home again, and Dumbledore told him that he needed to be at Kings Cross station on the first of September, board the train at platform nine and three quarters by walking through the ticket barrier, and that he would see him again in school.

Tom was quite grateful for the peace and quiet of his lonely room after the sheer volume of new information he had received in the one day, and, after carefully locking away all of his new wizarding equipment after examining it when alone, he laid back on his bed, allowing himself a little bit of hope, and a smile.


	4. Begging

Waking up with a kind face smiling at him uncomfortably made Tom feel immediately suspicious. A glance at the window towards outside showed that it was clearly the middle of the night.

"What is-" he started, before the smile disappeared into a worried look and a loud "SHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

He nodded and climbed out of bed, bare feet padding on the cold floor, and followed the Sister out of his room, down the hall, and into Father Jones' office.

"Good evening Tom," said the priest, and Tom's heart began to pound as the sister who had brought him here looked at him sadly and shut the door, locking it.

"You're here because of what you are, Tom. It is unfortunate, but the bible tells "Never suffer a witch to live". I must say, I had never even thought of a male being a witch, but you were seen coming from that place they purchase their wicked belongings from! Tom, we must take steps to ensure your innocence and pray that the Lord will find his place in you, and save you from damnation."

Tom blinked, surprised, then frowned, "I don't understand. From what the professor told me-"

"Yes, that's another thing! A School! To teach witchcraft! An Abomination!"

only the clearing of a throat from the sister calmed the father down, and Toms fear grew tenfold.

"It is time," said the priest, and Sister Margaret grabbed his arms, pinning them to his sides, as Father Jones covered his mouth and nose with a cloth soaked in something astringent.

The burning and choking and nausea was all that the eleven-year-old felt, before, struggling, he fell unconscious.

Tom felt himself bound and shook his head, before realising that there was something around his neck. Sluggishly he blinked open his eyes, frightened, only to realise that he was bound to a greyish metal bed frame without a mattress by the hands and feet, with a chain from a dog around his neck and tethered to the wall behind the bed.

"What-" he tried, his voice raspy. He moved his tongue around, feeling little blisters like burns all around the inside of his mouth, and from the pain on swallowing, in his throat too.

The priest looked down at him from beside the bedframe, looking sadly at the struggling child, "Confess, my son, and let God the Father of all forgive you of your sins."

Tom knew this was not a normal confession. He hadn't pushed any of the other boys, nor fought back when they hit him. In fact this past week he had barely left his room, as he was too busy studying his new books.

Father Jones sighed, and shook his head, turning to the sister and looking forlorn, "He will not confess."

She nodded and carried a bottle to him.

He poured the liquid into his right hand and used it to draw a cross over Tom, who was staring at him, baffled, then over himself, and finally Margaret, who was looking so sadly at Tom that he was tempted to ask if he was going to die.

The priest spoke, his face turned upwards above the bed where Tom lay bound, "Lord have mercy."

Sister Margaret replied, "Lord have mercy. Pray for us."

They continued, changing the name from Christ, to God, to Mary, always saying pray for us. Tom started to feel frantic, wanting to get away from the man and woman.

By the time Father Jones was saying "Saint Anastasia, all holy virgins and windows, all holy saints of God intercede for us," Tom was begging.

"Please! Please! I'm sorry, I don't know what I did! Please let me go! I don't want to die!"

"From the snares of the devil deliver us oh lord."

"Please! Sister, please! I don't want to die! Please!"

The father shook his head at sister Margaret, closing his eyes as she closed hers, "Do not keep in mind oh Lord, our offences or this of our parents, nor take vengeance on our sins."

As he began saying the lord's prayer, she joined in and Tom felt the tears running down the sides of his head into his hear, and listened to them drip onto the floor.

"-and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

Tom did not realise when he fell unconscious because of lack of air from the choke chain, but they did, then gave each other a small smile and continued performing the exorcism over the child.

He did realise waking up, yet again bound to the bed, with the priest he had known his whole life looming over him.

"-obey me to the letter, I who am a minister of God despite my unworthiness; nor shall you be emboldened to harm in any way this creature of God, or the bystanders, or any of their possessions."

Father Jones placed one hand on Tom's head and another on his stomach, making him twist to try and get away from those hands, shouting, "Get off me! Get off!"

"They shall lay their hands upon the sick and all will be well with them-"

"Get off me! Help! Someone help! I didn't do anything! Help me!"

"-show you favour and mercy."

Sister Margaret nodded and joined him in saying Amen.

Tom was vaguely aware of the priest reading scripture as he screamed his lungs out, crying and pleading to be left alone.

"Tom," the father started, drawing his attention, "May the blessing of Almighty God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit be with you now and forever more, Amen."

He looked up from the child, who was panting for breath, bruised and crying, and nodded to sister Margaret, who covered his mouth with the foul smelling cloth again.

When Tom woke up this time, he felt hands on his shoulders and hips, and shook his head, feeling water against the back of his head.

"-who has prepared everlasting hellfire for you and your angels, from whose mouth shall come a sharp sword, who is coming to judge both the living and the dead and the world by fire!"

Ad he took a breath to start screaming for help again, Tom saw sister Margaret look sadly at him as she said amen.

Then they pushed him under the water.

Panicked, Tom screamed, flailing his arms and grabbing at Father Jones', trying to pull himself up against the hands of two adults who were drowning him.

Suddenly, a crash sounded and Tom was able to sit up, black and white stars flashing before his eyes.

It took several minutes, his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them, gulping air and shaking before Tom could even look up.

Father Tom and Sister Margaret were on the floor against two opposite walls.

Fearing punishment and terrified for his life, he began to cry again.

There were two loud pops, and two strangely dressed men arrived.

It took tom a moment to realise they were wizards wearing red robes.

"Merlin! Look at the child! Ramsey, you take him to Saint Mungo's, I'll deal with the muggles."

"Hello son, my name is Auror Ramsey. Looks like there's been a bit of a problem, hmm? Let's get you to Saint Mungo's and get you fixed up."

Tom was wary, but nodded, ad the smiling auror reached out and touched him on the upper arm, and then he felt like he was being squashed and squeezed and - "That's it, you did great! I was sick on my first side along apparate!"

The auror led him to a front desk, where a witch, dressed in very bright robes, nodded, got him to tap his wand to a form, and then looked down at Tom kindly.

"Well, what's your name then young wizard? Let's get you up to paediatrics and Auror Ramsey back off to tidy up!"

"I'm Tom. Tom Riddle."

"What a lovely name! I have an uncle and a cousin called Tom! Right, into the lift we go!"

Her overly cheerful nature was grating on the child, but he was absorbing all of the things he could see as quickly as he could.

Which currently, was something called a lift. It looked like a box to Tom, but when the doors opened again, they were in a different place.

His surprise must have shown on his face, as the witch chuckled merrily and stepped out, "Handy, isn't it? No more climbing fourteen flights of stairs!"

He nodded tightly, following her as she led him into a large room with hospital beds around the outside.

But he was staring at the walls, which had moving animals walking and playing around the room, on real looking grass.

Another witch in a slightly different coloured uniform escorted him to a bed and closed the curtain behind her.

"Don't worry, silencing charm built in. Now, ill run a full diagnostic, and then ill get the potioneer to sort you out, and any charms that need sorting, I will perform myself. Is that alright Mr Riddle?"

Tom nodded, shivering in the wet clothes.


End file.
